Phil and Kate: Then and Now
by Selene Illusinia
Summary: A story about Phil Coulson and his cellist, Kate Bishop. Then and now.


**This story is entirely the fault of my friend Nat (blackhawk2013), who didn't get it out of my head when the idea came to me. I blame her.**

* * *

_**Now**_

Music floated through the apartment as Phil quietly unlocked the door, the soft notes and sharp slide of the bow over the cello's strings slipping through the air. He could practically feel his muscles relaxing as the familiar sound slipped through the door. Stepping inside his apartment, the sight which greeted him was welcome.

Kate Bishop sat in the middle of the living room, her cello propped between her legs as her fingers danced over the strings of the instrument as skillfully as they did the string of her bow. Her eyes were shut as she played, but he could see the twitch of her fingers that indicated she'd heard him. A glance at her face confirmed that her eyes were slightly open, just slits that would let her confirm who had entered the apartment before they slid completely shut again to focus on the music.

Phil just stopped in the doorway to the living room, leaning on the wall as he watched her play. It was always a pleasure to watch her with her cello. Watching the tension ease from her shoulders and her head bob slightly with the music. The way her fingers slid smoothly over the neck of the instrument as she became lost in the sound she created. It never ceased to amaze him, the skill she could have for music. If anyone ever asked, he would readily admit that he enjoyed watching her play as much as he enjoyed watching her shoot her bow.

"You're quiet," remarked Kate as she finished the song, her bow smoothly sliding from the strings. "What's up, Government Man? Loose your voice again?"

"No," assured Phil, his lips tilting up in a smile. "Only my heart."

Kate's eyes rolled as his cheesy response, but he could see the hints of an amused smile at the corners of her lips. "Geez, watching Disney movies at work again? I keep telling you those aren't a valid interrogation method. If you wanna torture someone, use Twilight."

"You're suggestions for improving our interrogation methods have been noted," replied Phil as he approached her and leaned over for a kiss. Something she happily provided. "I'm very glad you decided to come back."

"Eh, Portland wasn't as fun as I remembered," explained Kate with a shrug. "I prefer New York. For one thing, you're here."

"Mm," hummed Phil softly, stepping back so she could return her cello to it's stand. "I'm sorry the transfer didn't work out, by the way."

"Not your fault you got stabbed," pointed out Kate as she put her cello away before turning and practically jumping on him. Her lips pressed against his again, this kiss slow and thorough. "Welcome home."

"It's nice to be home," confirmed Phil quietly, one of his hands sliding up into her hair while the other wrapped around her narrow waist. Her arms, strong from drawing her bow and training with Clint, slid around his neck to play with his hair. "Is it safe to assume I was missed?"

"It gets boring when everyone's deployed except me," explained Kate with a roll of her eyes. "Even Clint wasn't picking up today."

"Probably enjoying his downtime with Natasha," stated Phil. "But Kate, I really need a shower."

"Well, what do you know, so do I," replied Kate with a smirk. "We should conserve water."

Phil was careful to keep his own grin to a minimum as he started towards the bathroom. "There's very little conservation that occurs when we shower together."

"So?" challenged Kate. "It's the thought that counts."

_**Then**_

They'd met at a Stark function. Clint had brought her along because, as she'd put it, she was bored out of her skull staring at the ceiling of his crappy apartment. Why she was hiding out in Clint's crappy apartment, she never explained, but the words 'teenage boys' and 'ridiculous pissing matches' did come up in conversation. Which, really, isn't much to go on. Phil could think of many, many different scenarios which could involve those phrases.

He'd personally only been there because Pepper was very convincing. And very talented at amassing blackmail. How she'd gotten those pictures from his army days, exactly, he wasn't sure. But given Nick was the only one who had copies, he was betting his friend had slipped them to her as a means for forcing him out of the office. Even Nick wasn't immune to Pepper's terrifying ability to make people spill their secrets. Then again, after meeting Kate, there wasn't much he could complain about.

Clint had introduced them, pulling Kate over at one point and basically saying "Phil, this is my partner in crime when you aren't around, Kate." She'd laughed and thrown back: "More like your guardian angel. I'm the one who saves your sorry ass half the time." Her snark had made Phil smile, especially because she was giving back to Clint what he always gave to everyone else.

Then he'd seen her dress and felt like the dirtiest old man on the planet. She looked barely legal and here he was, a 45 year old man, trying not to drool. Her dress was purple and black and hugged her body like a second damn skin except where the skirt at the bottom flared out. How Clint was standing there like she was dressed like a nun, he didn't know. It had to be a perspective thing. Maybe a mentor one? Either way, Clint was damn lucky to have it.

Her dress wasn't nearly as deadly at her smile though. And when she turned and winked at Phil with a devilish grin that said she wanted Phil to play along with whatever ribbing she was giving Clint, Phil just avoided gulping. It was like looking at a female version of Clint. A very attractive, intelligent, and young female version of Clint. Not that Clint wasn't attractive or intelligent, but Phil didn't swing that way usually and certainly not with other agents. Well, he tried not to. He wasn't going to lie and say there hadn't been screw ups, but he'd avoided those kinds of mishaps in the last fifteen years of his career. Besides, there was something decidedly...un-Clint about her. Something that was calling to him.

Which is why when Clint left them alone to go hunt down Natasha, Phil felt his pulse ratchet up. Yes, Phil wasn't the worst looking man around and he knew that. But he was used to being average looking, unassuming. It's what made him good at his job, even if it meant he didn't attract girls very often. Which was part of why he turned back into a nervous, shy little nerd like he'd been in high school when faced with that possibility. If this were a mission and she was a mark? No problem. Otherwise? Not so easy...

And of course, the first thing he could think to say had to do with Captain America. Because he didn't want to make this about SHIELD and wasn't completely sure how much Clint may have told her. And with his life revolving mostly around SHIELD with a bit of Captain America thrown, there wasn't much outside those two to talk about. Hence his _minor_ (read: major) obsession coming to light. He hadn't even had time to start convincing himself that was best (because Kate is clearly _far_ too young for him) when her laugh cut through his thoughts and she threw back a retort that had to do with Bucky.

That was the precise moment Phil Coulson realized that he was complete screwed.

_**Now**_

The feel of a hand sliding across Phil's chest wakes him in the middle of the night. He might have thrown the hand's owner too, if he hadn't remembered almost immediately that Kate is in bed with him. So he manages to lay still, breath, and just let her do whatever it is she's doing as he stares at the ceiling.

Her callused fingers brush over his scar, stroking the slightly raised skin like she might spun glass. He's not sure she's aware that he's awake and he doesn't do anything to draw attention to the fact he is. Especially when her lips replace her fingers. She's whispering something as she kisses him, her lips moving in soft patterns and her breath puffing against the scar tissue. He can't make out what she's saying, but the bit he can hear sounds like a prayer.

When her lips are replaced with her tongue, he can't bring himself to remain silent any more. "Is there a reason you are orally molesting my scar?"

She laughs against his chest before dropping one more kiss on his scar, directly over his heart, and crawling up to kiss his lips. "Just felt like it."

He might have believed it too, if it weren't for the drying tears on her cheeks, barely visible in the dark room. "Kate..."

Her lips cover his own again, silencing him as she curls close. One of her legs ends up across his waist naked, her arms wrapping around his neck. Phil returns the touch, slipping his hand up her back to rest at the base of her neck while his other hand trails up to stroke her cheek.

When they break apart a moment later, her face drops into the crook of his neck. "Phil, please. Don't. Just don't."

"Alright Katie, I won't." That's all he needs to hear to know that his near-death experience is the reason for her tears. Not that it was hard to guess; she usually avoids his scar. It's too much of a reminder and he doesn't need her to tell him that to know it's the truth.

Her lips begin to kiss and suck at his neck, content to focus on the available skin there. He's not about to argue this either. Instead, he lets her set the pace. Lets her decide when they move where because, as much as he enjoys late night sex, post-nightmare sex is about feeling alive or, in this case, confirming your partner is very much alive. And he'll let Kate do or take whatever she needs, because tonight this is about her and him and being alive.

_**Then**_

It takes more attempts than Phil will ever admit for him to get up the nerve to ask Kate out. That and alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Courtesy of Marcus, aka Director Fury. He's never, ever, going to his friend for dating advice again. Getting him drunk is NOT a suitable solution. Regardless of the fact it worked.

He still remembers the hangover the next morning and the text from Kate suggesting that they move their date to the next night because she's willing to bet he isn't going to be functional by that night. Marcus played back the recording of the conversation for Phil days later, because apparently he'd made sure Phil used his work phone to make the call.

It had gone something like this:

Kate: -groggily- whoever the fuck this is, get ready to have your dick cut off and shoved so far down your throat you'll never talk again.

Phil: that's not possible without choking. Don't think so at least. Unless you can deep throat...

Kate: uh, okay? TMI dude. Who is this?

Phil: it's Phil. Coulson. From the party thingy Sparky threw.

Kate: yeah, I remember. Captain America. You call Tony, Sparky?

Phil: sometimes. He does have the arc thingy in his chest that sparks. I think.

Kate: yeah, he does. Phil, are you drunk?

Phil: very, courtesy of my soon to be ex-friend, Nicky.

Kate: Nicky? Did Fury get you drunk?

Phil: yes. Very.

Kate: okay, do I want to know why or should I just assuming you're calling for bail money?

Phil: yes.

Kate: to which one?

Phil: knowing. We're in my apartment, not prison. We learned a long time ago not to get drunk in public. Things happen.

Kate: and you are so telling me those things later. Especially if they involve Clint.

Phil: Clint doesn't need to be drunk to do stupid things. See Rio as an example.

Kate: seriously, what happened in Rio? Natasha said something about it once but Clint won't tell me!

Phil: he ran through the streets, naked, declaring himself the king of Carnivale. I have video.

Kate: is he at least nice to watch?

Phil: very. I wish I looked like that.

Kate: I am so telling him you said that.

Phil: please don't. I don't need him getting ideas or having it go to his head.

Kate: probably safest. So, what's with the midnight, drunken call if bail isn't necessary?

Phil: I want a date.

Kate: ooookay. With anyone in particular or are you looking for a blind set-up?

Phil: you.

Kate: what about me?

Phil: I want a date, with you.

Kate: wait a minute, did Fury get you drunk so you'd ask me out?

Nick: -from far away- Yes! Now accept his motherfucking offer please so he'll stop moping like a child!

Kate: was that Fury?

Phil: yes, he's drunk too.

Kate: I guessed.

Nick: -from far away- I'm not drunk, motherfucker!

Phil: yes, you are! Now shut up before I tell her about the ponies.

Kate: ponies? What ponies? My pony?

Phil: no, not your ponies, m-

Nick: -from significantly close- CHEESE, IF YOU SAY ANOTHER MOTHERFUCKING WORD, I WILL KICK YOUR MOTHERFUCKING SORRY ASS TO SIBERIA!

Kate: -cracking up- oh god. Did he just call you Cheese?

Phil: -groans- yes, he did. Army nick name, don't ask.

Kate: oh I'm gonna ask and you're gonna tell me that story over dinner. When?

Phil: wait, was that a yes?

Kate: yes, that was a yes. When?

Phil: uh, tomorrow night?

Kate: alright, I'll mark it down. Seven?

Phil: sure. Should I pick you up at six?

Kate: sounds like a plan. I'll make a reservation in the morning. Now, can I go back to sleep? Otherwise I might have to make good on my threat to your manhood and I'd rather not before I get the chance to test the merchandise.

Phil: yes?

Kate: thanks. Have fun Phil, I'll see you tomorrow night.

Tomorrow night hadn't worked out, as Kate had predicted, and he was very grateful for her advanced thinking. So instead he'd picked her up two days later and followed her directions to a restaurant he'd never heard of that turned out to be a family owned diner that Kate had found when she was thirteen. It wasn't the most romantic place but Phil had to admit that it was easier to talk there rather than at some candle-lit table in a dim restaurant where everyone murmured to each other rather than speaking normally. He'd asked Kate why she'd picked a diner over their burgers and she'd just shrugged.

"You're a government agent and I've had more than enough men try to woo me over candle-light. It gets boring after a while. Plus it always feels like everyone is trying to over-compensate for their puny dicks in those places. I'd rather get a burger and have an honest discussion than deal with that charade crap. Plus, if you had to get drunk to ask me out, that means you're either extremely nervous or I'm really not your type. Either way, a diner seemed better."

Phil'd quickly assured her that she was definitely his type, even if she made him feel like a dirty old man. She'd assured him that she could make him feel dirtier, but in a very good way. The way she laughed said that, yes, the blush he could feel really was that bad. Which sucked because he thought he'd _stopped_ blushing when he was 20. The army usually beats that out of you.

From there the topics had ranged from the origin of his Ranger nickname "Cheese" to the stupid things he and Fury had done while drunk, most of which had taken place while they were still Rangers. Kate had laughed hard through most of his stories, comparing with her own (numerous) tales of juvenile delinquency, mostly in conjunction with Clint, the Young Avengers, and her school friends. Suffice to say, he'd never even considered doing half those things as a child. Then again, his own childhood was something he wasn't going to touch. Well, at least not that early on. She didn't need to know why he had a Captain America obsession that probably bordered on a fetish.

He's half expected the date to fall apart early on, mostly because he's a dirty old man and Kate can d so much better than him. But somehow she hadn't snuck out the bathroom window at the end of it all, instead asking if he wanted to go back to her apartment for a drink. He politely refused, stating he couldn't on a first date because it would feel wrong. For a moment, she'd looked hurt, until he added that he'd love to go out with her again tomorrow night if she's available.

She proposed a lunch date the following day.

He accepted.

They never made it back to work that day.

Phil almost jumped when he felt arms wrap around waist just as he finished shaving. Thankfully his razor wasn't in his hand at the time or, you know, anywhere _near_ his throat. He should be used to his girlfriend sneaking up on him by now, of course. She's as bad as her 'boss', Clint.

"Kat-" Phil begins to chastise her as he turns around, only to find her standing a few feet back in front of him, looking completely innocent. And wearing a classic USO girl's uniform straight out of one of his Captain America movies. Any thought in Phil's head just kinda fell out. Immediately. Seriously, there was no way he could think when there was no blood left in his head.

"Happy birthday, Phil," greets Kate, her look still innocent as she just stands there looking like something out of one of the fantasies he'd had as a teenager. This is completely unfair.

He must look like a fish out of water because there's a flash of something distinctly evil in Kate's eyes for a second before she slips closer to him. Which really doesn't help him regain his vocal skills, obviously. Especially when she leans forward near his ear to whisper to him. "Do you like it, Phil?"

A nod is the best he can get out, what with being pinned between his girlfriend, who was clearly trying to kill him, and the counter. He can practically feel the smirk as she kisses his neck and fiddles with the old jeans he's wearing. Wearing a shirt while shaving doesn't strike him as being practical, so he never does it. Which means there's no barrier when she slips her hands down to his waist. "Are you ready for your present?"

"I-isn't this my present?" asks Phil, feeling his pants become very uncomfortable. Kate can be creative, and he loves it, but he suspects whatever she's planning may kill him.

She laughs and winks at him, dropping a slow kiss on his lips. "You've done so much for our country, you deserve a reward."

Then she sinks down to the ground and tugs on his pants.


End file.
